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CHESTNUT HILL.

From Mrs. Hickey's I was taken to stay with my aunt in the old country house at Chestnut Hill where I had lived alone with my brother. It was now summer, a summer peculiar to America. There was a profusion of flowers, butterflies, fireflies, humming birds [[hummingbirds]] and katy-dids. There were great trees, green lawns, horses, and even cows, for there was a farm nearby which supplied all the wants of the house. It was a child's paradise, good for health and spirits.

Physically I reacted favorably enough, but I am now convinced that mentally the effects of slum life were never effaced. In some dark corner of my inner consciousness these experiences had sown what would soon take the form of a secret craving for the negative exultation of those who are solitary and adrift.